


Private Pirate

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: A little bit of violence, Alex Manes Whump, BAMF Alex Manes, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Truly awful humor, established malex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Alex comes out of a fight a little worse for the wear. Michael takes care of him.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 32
Kudos: 135





	Private Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent hurt/comfort, for a Tumblr prompt sent by Anonymous: Stubbornly Standing Only To Have Their Legs Give Out And Being Hastily Caught/Supported.

Michael has a little trouble keeping the soldiers away without using his powers, but Alex is a creature of wonder. He can only watch, as Alex blocks a blow with his forearm, then balances on his prosthesis to deliver a high kick with his left leg, clocking his opponent in the jaw. Michael feels more than marginally useless, only able to keep the men at bay with his few bar-fighting skills, but he can't afford to reveal  his powers unless there's absolutely no other choice. These men and their colleagues would do anything to put him in a cage.

In the end, he takes down one of them, and Alex the other five, which is just ridiculous. When he looks up from kicking his guy one last time−just to check that he isn't getting up, of course−he finds Alex heavily stumbling to the back of the room, and sitting down on the computer chair there, one of the only pieces of furniture still standing inside the room. Michael does a quick sweep of the room, but all six men are clearly out for the count.

“Alex, you good? We have to get out of here,” he says, while stuffing his backpack with the files they've come to get. Alex had time to hack into the computer system and copy the entire thing onto a USB stick, which Michael quickly unplugs from the overturned unit.

“'m good,” Alex replies, but it comes out muffled. Michael turns back to him and finds him pressing a tissue to his mouth with one hand, while the other one prods at his ribs. He frowns. He glimpsed the soldiers getting a few hits in before Alex got to them all, but he didn't think it was bad. “You sure?”

“Ready?” Alex asks instead of answering.

“Yeah, I've got everything. Do we just leave them here?”

Alex removes his hand from his face to speak, wincing. “We can't call 9-1-1, and I doubt they will,” he says. “They'll wake up eventually.”

“That lip doesn't look good,” Michael remarks. Now that Alex isn't pressing on it, his split lip is gushing blood, and the left side of his face is already starting to swell up. He's going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow.

“It's fine,” Alex says. “I'll see Kyle when we get home.”

“Come on, then.”

Michael is grateful that he has the presence of mind to wait a few more seconds before he heads for the door, because Alex's legs give out under him as soon as he tries to stand up. Michael catches him with telekinesis before he can fall all the way, and quickly closes the distance between them. “Alex!”

“I'm okay,” Alex coughs. His face says the opposite, his eyes tightly shut in an expression of pain.

“You keep saying that.”

“Just pushed my leg a bit too far.” Alex shifts his weight fully on his left leg, and extends an arm. Michael ducks under it to support him.

“Do you need a hospital?” he asks.

“No. Just to get off my leg.”

“And stitches for your lip,” Michael adds.

“Um.”

“Broken ribs?”

Alex sighs, his other arm still cradling his side. “Cracked, I think. I'll be fine.”

Michael rolls his eyes at that, but he helps Alex limp to the door. They make it to the car quickly, thankful that the street is mostly empty. Alex mumbles in relief when he's finally situated in the passenger seat, his leg extended and the seat's back pushed down to make it easier on his ribs. “You sure you don't need a hospital?” Michael asks again, sending off a quick text to Valenti to get his ass to the cabin with his kit before he starts the car.

“I've seen enough hospitals for a lifetime,” Alex answers. “This is nothing.”

“Right.” Michael doesn't call him out on his bullshit, because they can't really afford the questions showing up like this in an emergency room would bring, and he does believe that Alex would tell him if it was bad enough to be necessary.

Instead, he drives as fast as he can, while avoiding road bumps whenever possible, trying not to make it harder on Alex. Alex still winces at every turn and even lets out a couple of quiet moans.

“You were pretty badass out there,” Michael says, trying to distract him. It's the first time he's truly seen Alex put his training to use.

“I should have been faster,” Alex answers, his voice still muffled by the tissue he's pressing to his lip. “Damn leg.”

“What I saw was amazing,” Michael tells him−he's not above admitting how far beyond his league Alex is. “I had enough trouble getting the one guy.”

He thinks the vaguely wincing expression Alex gives him when he glances at him is supposed to be a smile.  It's good enough.

He forces himself not to worry through the rest of the drive, though Alex seems less and less energetic. Valenti is waiting under the porch of the cabin when they make it there, so Michael parks the car as close as possible to the door. He opens both Alex's car door and the cabin's with his mind, and uses more than a touch of telekinesis to keep Alex stable as Valenti helps him out of his seat.

B etween them, they get Alex onto the couch.

“What hurts the worse?” Valenti asks.

“Take off the leg,” Alex mumbles, breathing harshly.

M ichael holds a hand up to stop Valenti from moving and unpins Alex's prosthesis with his mind. “Here,” he says, floating the leg out of Alex's pant leg and against the wall.

“I'll need to get your pants off to check your stump,” Valenti says.

Alex gestures vaguely to Michael again. Michael nods, grateful that Alex trusts him to do this in front of someone else. He unbuckles Alex's belt by hand and uses his powers to get his pants out from under him.

“Thanks,” Alex tells him. “You should go.”

“You sure?”

“Please.”

Michael sighs, but he obeys with a squeeze of Alex's shoulder. “I'll cook us some lunch,” he says,  before heading to the kitchen. There's sincere gratefulness in Alex's eyes at his acceptance, and how could he refuse him? He understands Alex's need for privacy. He doesn't want to have someone watch Valenti patch him up, that's all. It's not personal.

Michael does his best to ignore the conversation going on in the other room−mostly one-sided on Valenti's part w hen he  starts stitch ing up Alex's lip−by banging pans and cutlery more than strictly necessary. It doesn't last all that long, barely long enough for the pasta to cook, before Valenti sticks his head in the kitchen.

“I'm done here,” he says.

“He's good?” Michael asks, following him out.

“He's gonna hurt for a while, but his ribs are only cracked. Nothing life-threatening.”

“Good,” Michael nods.

Alex is settled back on the couch, his eyes closed, but he follows their moves with his head. He's not asleep.

“I'm not going to prescribe any more painkillers than he already has,” Valenti says. “But make sure he takes them, okay? And have him ice his eye. No prosthesis for a couple of days, at least.”

“Thank you,” Michael says, and it's heartfelt.

Valenti nods.  “ Take care of him. He doesn't take care of himself enough.”

They share a rare look of understanding, before Valenti gathers his bag and leaves.

“How are you feeling?” Michael asks Alex, sitting down carefully on the edge of the couch beside him.

“He gave me some Vicodin,” Alex answers, opening his eyes. “Doesn't ache as much.”

Michael doesn't miss his wince as he shifts, though. His ribs are more than just a little sore. “I'll get you some ice.”

He slips into the kitchen and comes back b alancing an ice pack and  the two plates of pasta he's prepared. “Up for some lunch?”

“I can try,” Alex says, touching the dressing taped awkwardly to his lower lip. “Kissing's gonna be a bitch.”

Michael gently places the ice pack over his swelling eye and guides Alex's hand to hold it in place.  “ We'll make it work.”

“Good. Cause they don't get to take that from me.”

M ichael leans in to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. “ No they don't. I'm pretty sure you broke at least two of these guys' arms.”

“They asked for it.”

“It was hot.”

Alex's lips part in something like a smile. “Was it?”

“Yeah. You know what else is hot? The pasta. Eat.”

“Guerin, that was really awful,” Alex rolls his one open eye. “Gimme that plate. I can't move.”

“Should I feed you as well?” Michael asks, grabbing Alex's fork.

“You fucker, gimme that,” Alex laughs, then winces. “Ow. Fucking ribs.”

“Swearing like a real sailor over there.”

“Not a sailor,” Alex huffs.

Michael hands him the plate and fork this time, but Alex finds himself having to awkwardly balance it on his knee to keep one hand on the ice pack. “That's right, private. You're a pirate. You've got the leg down, you hack and rob people for a living, you don't even need a sword to be a badass, though you'd be ever hotter with one, and you've almost got the glass eye today. Ice eye. Maybe that ought to be your pirate name.”

Alex removes the ice pack from his face to glare at him with both eyes. “Seriously? You couldn't come up with a better name?”

“Nope. Ice Eye it is. My own alien-loving private pirate.”

“Mm,” Alex murmurs, leaning back into the couch, tiredness winning over him. “You better get me a sword next time.”

“As you wish,” Michael smirks, without even a doubt in his mind that Alex would be utterly deadly with a sword in his hand. “Right now, though, let's stab some pasta.”

Alex's disgusted glare is answer enough.  He obeys, though, navigating a forkful of spaghetti bolognese around his split lip.  Michael beams at him and grabs his own plate.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments make my day (or my week, even). I'm also on Tumblr at [emma-arthur](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/)


End file.
